The Montmartre Investigation by Claude Izner

satchel containing his plates, Victor recoiled in the face of Mademoiselle Bontemps’s ebullience.
    â€˜Would it be taking advantage if I were to ask you to take a group picture of us?’ she cried excitedly.
    â€˜Well, I had in fact come to ask your help. You see I’m looking for models.’
    Victor felt perfectly ridiculous, standing there surrounded by a knot of girls decked out in their Sunday best. As for Mademoiselle Bontemps, she resembled an enormous, belligerent parakeet under the green feathers of her huge hat.
    â€˜I’m not sure I’m looking my best,’ she cooed, fidgeting.
    â€˜Yes, yes, you are ravishing; people will think you’re one of the girls. Let’s go down to the lake.’
    Iris, very chic in a grey coat with a fur collar, slipped over to him and whispered, ‘That’s going a bit far! She looks hideous. Did Godfather send you?’
    â€˜Come along, girls, behave nicely. It’s not every day that an artist takes an interest in us! Berthe, Aspasie, you tall girls stand behind. Iris, stand here in the front beside Henriette and Aglaé. The others…’
    â€˜That’s not fair; I’m an inch shorter than them,’ muttered Aspasie.
    â€˜It’s a pity Élisa’s not here!’ said Berthe.
    â€˜She’s gone home to her mother,’ said Mademoiselle Bontemps, who added in an aggrieved tone to Victor: ‘That mother, she has no idea how to behave. She hasn’t paid me for this term; if she thinks I’m just going to overlook it…’
    â€˜The Fourchon girl? Noémi Gerfleur’s daughter?’ asked Victor innocently.
    â€˜So you solved the enigma of the flowery name; what perspicacity, Monsieur Legris! Girls, girls, calm down, stay in your places. I’ll leave you to your work, Monsieur Legris.’
    Victor set up his camera, adjusted the pose of the girls and disappeared under a black cloth. There were suppressed giggles, elbowing and mutterings of, ‘How long must we stand like statues?’
    When he’d finished, the girls scattered, chased by a furious Mademoiselle Bontemps, clutching her plumed hat with one hand. Iris came over to Victor.
    â€˜You didn’t say anything to Godfather?’
    â€˜Not a word…How was Élisa dressed when she went to meet her lover; what colour were her clothes?’
    â€˜Why?…Oh, I see, my godfather has asked you to keep an eye on the people I associate with and…’
    â€˜You’re on the wrong track, Mademoiselle Iris; be kind – enlighten me.’
    She looked at him quizzically.
    â€˜You’re hiding something, but I’ll find out what it is eventually,’ she murmured. ‘Élisa was wearing a red dress and coat, that’s why I lent her my red shoes. It was a joke – her good friend Gaston was taking her dancing at Le Moulin-Rouge; it’s easy for him to get in – he works there. Is it true, what they say about the naturalist quadrille?’
    â€˜What do they say?’
    â€˜That the dancers show their petticoats and their drawers.’
    â€˜If the posters are to be believed, yes it’s true.’
    â€˜I would give anything to see that!’
    â€˜I very much doubt that your…ah…godfather would agree to that.’
    â€˜We wouldn’t have to tell him if you agreed to chaperone me. You can keep a secret can’t you, Monsieur Legris?’ she said in an icy tone.
    Victor was saved by the return of Mademoiselle Bontemps, who had gathered her lost flock. It was a struggle to extricate himself; the young ladies, egged on by their headmistress, insisted on his trying a sensational blend of tea accompanied by apple strudel. As he left, he could not help glancing at Iris anxiously. Was Kenji taking his responsibilities towards the young girl seriously?
    *
    Victor collapsed exhausted in a bistro on Avenue Victor-Hugo. Restored by a glass of vermouth, he laughed at